jay rocapela – scalpel scars lyrics
scalpel scars
(written by juan velazquez)
intro-singing-
i done cut through the arteries to my heart!
wrapped it up in a platinum box
but all you did was devour it whole!
now your viewing, the ugly side to my soul
(-yeah!
-too crazy!
-too dope!
-rocapela
-scalpel scars)
verse 1
finalize the nail in the coffin, these are not words that you will hear often
lower the casket down to earth untill the molten core makes it soften
reaching my arm in while in obscurity not secure of my security
so i only watch it drop as my worthless tears are d-mned near pardoned
the priest lashes holy water; the revival stings as if it were hydrochloric acid
prepare for the journey while i sit in a sh-t box and let the seatbelt fasten
in a rocket ship the rocketeer only views the present zooming by
and my past is spray-painted red from a hit-and-run on the back of my ride
one second my forehead reaches the ground like i had a crooked spine
and next i’m laughing my -ss off like i had a straitjacket and i’m out of my mind
love being misunderstood because even when you try i could never be defined
rebellious to my wits even when i debate about them more than two times
double-cross myself while becoming gory and parasitic in me deep inside
call the paramedics! but instead i call women, and silently stay quite
because my conscious is only divided, up into multiple similar riots
these snakes untangle and unfold with the sun like the pyramids built by the mayans
i stumble sometimes and grumble to myself imagining having a blunt
so i can light one under diamonds because i’m not a pig neither a runt
crack heads raving for cocaine light one under them as if this was the witch hunt
let their bone marrow simmer as musically i only hear them crack and grunt
no women seem to value themselves so i’m lost in a sea of independence
they say to m-st-rbate to silence the pain but truly i feel like that sh-t’s so irrelevant
so i grab thick eyeliner and paint masterpieces while my appendage is still tremblin
we were all born to be saints but i just can’t visualize how we all fell from heaven
in shock from bashing the clouds, i sink in while they become my tourniquet
but i don’t even hit earth as quick because these chains cause the illusion that i’m born again
shots heard loudly i can only meditate as i fell my problems closing in
hard to keep my composure when a sailor’s comp-ss seems so worthless
i’m a 143 pound m-ssacre still rising to be a man
but for some reason i can’t imagine my life truly having a lifespan
i’m a 49er mining and searching for gold in a simple pan
claim-jumping into my own world, and holding it in my own hand
while staring blankly at these scalpel scars
i feel like i’ve had them for too long
trapped in a closet, dark without light
next to skeletons and rotten mice
fetal position, slapped by the doctor; what does god truly have to offer?
prospects attempt to be prosper even though their plans never seem proper
let the f-cking money burn because the hearts of the rich are made of pure copper
and pay taxes only for the immigration to call me a wetback and a border hopper
so i return to my solid land but then i’m known as a pocho and a mexican mocker
observe
the return
of an animal who is only tryna live and learn
with furious tongs
you did me wrong
d-mn i’ve had these scalpel scars for so long
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